


Snapshots of a Non-Conventional Romance

by PinkToby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, Holiday Party Hijinks, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mistletoe, Romance, Tumblr: hannigramholidayexchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkToby/pseuds/PinkToby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, "How Will Graham Goes From 'No Homo' to 'So Homo' in Regards to Hannibal Lecter"</p><p>[My contribution to the Hannigram Holiday Exchange.  Happiest of holidays to my giftee, pitzips!  <3]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pitzips](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pitzips).



> Alright, first of all: HAPPY HOLIDAYS, PITZIPS! You have been an absolute joy to write for, and I hope you like your present!
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a "5 Times" fic, but, as of right now, there could very well be more or less than 5 entries! I will be updating rather regularly, so stay tuned...it's the gift that keeps on giving! ;)

“Tell me about your last relationship, Will.”

Hannibal Lecter balances a sleek black notebook on his plaid-covered knee, not a hair on his head out of place nor a speck of lint on his woolen suit. Something about his composure irritates Will, makes him feel self-conscious about the dark circles making half-moons under his eyes and the scuffed-to-death work boots on his feet.

“Not much to tell.” Will mumbles, “We had three dates before she decided I…wasn’t her type.”

“But was she _your_ type?”

“She was a good woman. Not overly funny, but laughed at all the appropriate times. Pretty, well-read—graduated with a degree in English—and she didn’t mind that I had dog hair on my slacks and smelled like motor oil. Well,” he chuckles darkly, “at least she didn’t mind at first.”

“It seems as though you were attracted to the idea of her more than the reality,” Hannibal concludes, scribbling something down in his notebook, “Difficult to avoid when one desires companionship for companionship’s sake.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers?” Will scoffs, “Seems about right.”

“There is always room for choice, whether or not begging is involved.” Hannibal looks Will straight in the eye, challenging, “Tell me, what kind of partner would you choose in an ideal situation?”

“I’m not in the habit of dealing in ideals, Dr. Lecter.”

“Humor me.”

“Well alright,” Will considers for a moment, “Smart, but not necessarily in an educated, distinguished way. Somebody who can read a situation for what it is. Funny, but not in a boisterous way. Something more subtle, sarcastic even. Headstrong, decisive. Accepting, understanding.”

“What about the physical?” There’s a flicker of something in Hannibal’s eyes, something Will has seen once or twice before but has never discovered what exactly it is.

“I feel like you’re signing me up for a dating site.”

“If I was, I’d be sure to mention your complete mastery of deflection.” Hannibal’s lips curl ever-so-slightly at the edges, “Even though you are not my patient, Will, the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality still stand.”

“Yeah, I know, I just,” There’s an unsettling flutter in Will’s gut, almost like butterflies but somehow more…sinister. There’s no reason why he _shouldn’t_ tell Hannibal this—after all, they’re friends, right? Will swallows nervously. _Right_?   

“Not particularly important—the physical, I mean. It’s more about how they carry themselves. I appreciate confidence, in character and carriage.” Will pauses, smiling to himself, “Uh, maybe blondes? God, that’s so typical.”

“Typical isn’t always bad,” Hannibal concludes, “It’s good to know what you want, Will. Or, whom.”

“All I have is a vague idea, and vague ideas don’t make good dinner dates. I mean,” Will sighs, “I’m not the best in social situations, and nobody I already know meets all of the criteria. Well, nobody except—“

“Except?”

“Well, uh,” Will’s eyes widen and his brow furrows, “you, actually.”

“I see,” Hannibal closes the notebook and places it on the table to his right, “Do you find yourself attracted to me, Will?”

“What? No, I…” Will stammers, his knuckles going white as he clenches the arms of his chair, “I mean, you’re, uh, you’re my friend so I…I guess I’m attracted to you in that way? I’ve, uh, never thought about—shit, I don’t…”

“Will, please,” Hannibal reaches over and lays a comforting hand on his knee. “I completely understand. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move on to other things for the time being. I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

“Thanks,” Will mumbles, barely above a whisper. Although loath to admit it, he still feels the weight of Hannibal’s warm hand on his knee.  


	2. Chapter 2

The FBI’s annual Christmas party is perhaps the most-dreaded event of Will Graham’s calendar year. Too many people, a ban on alcohol since an incident in 2007 that ended in tainted evidence and at least three pregnancies, and, of course, the ‘ugly sweater’ dress code.

Will tugs on the collar of his sweater and sighs. It’s not terribly ugly, truth be told—a gift from his grandmother in the early 90’s, a garish red and green fair isle knit that’s been exiled to the back of his closet since he received the damn thing—but it’s hot and uncomfortable and that counts for something in his book.

He’s planted himself against the back wall, about five feet from the pitcher of eggnog Price and Zeller not-so-secretly spiked with bourbon poured from stainless steel flasks, and watches. Watches Beverly Katz dance the Macarena with a woman from accounting, watches Jack and Bella greet and mingle with guests as they come to the door, watches cookies disappear from the snack table, watches Hannibal Lecter walk in his direction…

“Good evening, Will.”

“Doctor Lecter. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here.” Hannibal takes up a place next to Will, leaning easily against the wall, “A last-minute change of plans, as it were.”

“Explains why you’re not wearing an ugly sweater.”

“I believe that, given the circumstance, I’ll survive being…underdressed.”

Truth be told, Hannibal is anything _but_ underdressed—he’s wearing a black-and-red plaid suit with a tie and pocket square to match. Will feels himself growing bashful, for some reason.

“You look good,” Will says to his shoes instead of the man standing next to him, “You always look—“

“ _Uh-oh! Look who’s under the mistletoe!_ ”

Beverly shimmies—yes, _shimmies_ —her way over to where Will and Hannibal are standing, her finger pointing at the little sprig of green that hangs above their heads. Her cheeks glow red (probably from the spiked eggnog) and a pair of reindeer antlers hang crooked on her head.

“That explains why nobody came over to bother me,” Will mumbles, “Fuck, okay, maybe we can just slip away-“

“Don’t you dare, Graham!” Beverly shouts, earning a few turned-heads and quirked eyebrows, “No leaving until you kiss, it’s the rules!”

A cold sweat breaks out on Will’s brow. This is bad, this is very, _very_ bad. Not only are there witnesses, but… _oh, God, Hannibal’s looking at him like he’s a trussed-up Christmas dinner_!

“You are entirely correct, Beverly,” Hannibal says calmly, earning a few whispers from the small crowd now surrounding the two, “And since I am not one to forego tradition…”

Before Will has time to protest, he’s being dipped— _freakin’ dipped!—_ and Hannibal’s face is quickly descending towards his own. While one hand supports his waist, another reaches up to Will’s cheek.

Will steels himself for the inevitable meeting of lips, and finds himself not entirely revolted by the idea. In fact, it might even be… _nice_?

But fortunately—or unfortunately, he can’t tell—Hannibal stops just short of Will’s mouth and hovers there, breaths mingling but faces remaining a hair’s-width apart. To everyone around them, it must look like the make out of the century. Whistles and cheers erupt from their impromptu audience, accompanied by Beverly’s shout of ‘ _Get it! Get it!’_

Even though they’re not _actually_ kissing, Will still feels an intense sensation of intimacy wash over him. Hannibal’s never been this close to him—in fact, Will has never seen Hannibal get this close to _anyone_ , whether for show or not. Hannibal’s eyes dance with mirth. He’s enjoying this, too.

It’s only a moment before Will is returned to an upright position, the hand at his face gone and Hannibal’s lips taken away from his own. Will’s face has gone beet red, which must add to the picture he and Hannibal so brazenly painted, because a chorus of ‘ _aww_ ’s float into his ears.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” Hannibal announces, before leaning in and whispering, “I apologize if I’ve overstepped—“

“You didn’t overstep a damn thing,” Will responds, “Let them have this.”

Even after the audience dissipates (and Beverly claps them both on the back and congratulates them on having ‘the best damn smooch that mistletoe’s gonna see all year!), Will and Hannibal stand together, the hand that had supported Will’s back during their dramatic kiss still poised at Will’s lower back.

Will finds he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: I realize that Beverly Katz and Brian Zeller are Jewish. While this chapter takes a decidedly more Christmas-themed feel (as holiday parties tend to do, in my experience), it is important to remember that these two very important characters celebrate different holidays and that we should recognize their traditions and celebrate Judaism as a whole. Since Beverly and Brian were very minor characters (Brian was only mentioned and not actually present), I decided not to go in-depth in exploring their holiday traditions. 
> 
> (Personally, I headcanon that Beverly comes from a mixed household that celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah, and while Brian doesn't celebrate Christmas, he's always up for spiking the punch at holiday events ;D)


End file.
